We make our way up an immense staircase to the sleeping quarters. At the end of the hall, we find our bedroom, which is far larger than anything I’ve lived in yet. The ceiling is domed and painted like a clear autumn sky, while the walls are carved marble. The floors are deep-orange carnelian. The middle of the room hosts an enormous bed, its posts made from twining roots blooming with red leaves. The windows stand from floor to ceiling across the far wall, filling the room with warm sunlight. I scan the rest of the room, finding a sitting area, a table laden with fruit and wine, and then—
When my eyes land on the tall oak wardrobe, I find Amelie there, resplendent in a gown of lilac chiffon.
“Don’t tell me you made me more dresses,” I say, crossing the room to join her at my very full wardrobe.
She shrugs, suppressing a grin. “I won’t tell you then. But I will tell you, you should see the bathing chamber.”
Foxglove claps his hands together. “Yes, the bathing chamber! Your mate was quite specific on the size of the tub you would need.”
I eye Aspen, finding the corner of his mouth quirking up. “It had to be big enough for two.”
With a blush, I follow Foxglove into the adjoining room. Everything from the floor to the ceiling is pink and orange sunstone, with an enormous recessed rectangle at the center, filled with steaming water. Sprigs of rosemary and marigold heads float over the surface. Just looking at it makes me want to sink beneath its depths.
“Not yet,” Foxglove says, as if my thoughts are written on my face. “We have much more to see.”
* * *
We continue the tour,moving from room to room, wing to wing, floor to floor. There’s a ballroom, a library, several studies, a medical wing, and countless guest rooms. Of course, Foxglove is most excited to show me my parlor, one that is a near-replica of the one he made for me at Bircharbor, filled to the brim with human knickknacks, doilies, and other atrocities. His pride over the room is so palpable, it’s infectious, and I find myself not having to fake my smile at all.
Finally, he leads us to the throne room on the main floor of the palace. “Aspen said he wanted me to show you this last,” he says as he throws open the doors. The room is nearly as large as our bedroom, with towering ceilings, long windows, two ornate thrones, and…
I nearly bark a laugh at what rests in the center of the room. An obsidian table, twice as large as Nyxia’s. I meet Aspen’s smirk with a quirked brow.
“So,” Foxglove says, wringing his hands. “What do you think? Is it suitable? The palace, I mean.”
I go to him and take his hands in mine. “Yes, Foxglove. I love it more than I could ever say. You’ve done an amazing job.”
His cheeks flush pink at my praise.
A knock sounds on one of the open doors, and we turn to find Marie Coleman. She curtseys, then crosses the room to hand me two envelopes. “Another trade proposal to bring to the Alpha Council, and the most recent correspondence from my uncle.”
I take the letters from her. “What’s the latest from Representative Coleman?” I mutter as I break the seal of the second envelope.
Before I can open it fully, Aspen’s hand covers mine. “Work can wait until later,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.
I lift my eyes from the envelopes and find heat in his gaze. It’s enough to send my heart flipping in my chest. “I suppose you’re right,” I say, tucking the letter into the pocket of my dress.
“Are you in need of anything else, Your Majesties?” Marie asks, cheeks flushed as she suddenly finds the floor at her feet very interesting.
“No, thank you, Marie,” I say.
She hurries to the door, but Foxglove remains in my periphery, grinning wide at me and my mate.
Marie pauses and clears her throat. “Foxglove,” she hisses in a too-loud whisper. “I, uh. I think Fehr wants you to show him your room.”
“Oh!” Foxglove jumps, wringing his hands when he gets the hint. Then, “Oh,” when he understands what Marie is suggesting.
As soon as the doors close behind them, Aspen’s lips find mine. I retreat toward the obsidian table, and he hoists me on top of it. I spread my knees to pull him closer, wasting no time in getting him out of his jacket, his waistcoat. Then he shrugs out of his shirt with haste, losing a button in the process. I run my hands up and down his golden chest, leaning back as he returns his lips to me. One of his hands cradles the back of my neck, while the other moves up my knee, my thigh, climbing beneath the folds of my skirt to the roundness of my hips.
I pull away, my voice breathless when I say, “I have a surprise for you.”
His eyes brighten with curiosity. “Do you?”
I put a hand on his chest to gently push him a step back. Then I reach for the ribbon tied behind my neck, one that holds up the bodice of my lace gown. Once the knot is free, I pull the bodice down to reveal thick black satin stiffened by bone stays.
Aspen pulls his head back at the sight of the undergarment. “What the bloody oak and ivy?”
“It’s a corset, remember?”
